


Creed Chronicles

by Creed95



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10024511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creed95/pseuds/Creed95
Summary: A biography of, Gerald Creed, a young Gilnean boy as he grows up. From a young age he was struck with misfortune, and wherever he goes, it seems to follow like a low hanging mist, penetrating every aspect of his life. Throughout it all he fights to find family, peace, and happiness among the misfortunes of life, earning both companions and foes.





	1. Chapter 1

     Gerald rapped his fingers on the balcony, annoyed with the constant banter in the Recluse today. He saw people he had always seen, but he was glaring around the tavern, at each patron and their nonchalant way they carried on in life. he pulled on his hood, hiding his black hair and combed beard, so only his verdant eyes showed, continuing to glower at the patrons until he turned around and walked out of the bar, avoiding the drunken miscreants who threatened to bump into him. He walked down the ramp from the Recluse and down the pathway until he got to a nice quiet spot, and he sat under a large, beautiful oak tree, full with it bright leaves, reminiscent of better and more liberating days  


      Sure, Gerald had it lucky compared to most, but he still hated where his life was taking him. He was a free man, free to do whatever he pleased, within means of course. He was in pack after pack, nothing to lose, everything to gain, he could drink and fight and plan and do, but not anymore. He had too much to lose, so he had to think about his actions carefully, and this meant doing things he was going to shoot himself for later. For now, he chose to relax and took out a book, many think this old book he carried with him is an old history book, and in a way, they are correct. This is his book, not his as in he owns it, but his as in it’s about him and his life, told from his perspective. He decided to reread it, jumping fatefully into that nostalgia yet again, yearning for the past where he had nothing to lose. Under the bright sun of Azeroth, the brown worn pages flipped to the very first page. Gerald sighed as he read the title, “My Grand Adventures” which was written years ago, when he first got out of Gilneas, and saw the beauty of being his own man, leaving his past behind. The book begins with his childhood, an early one, one that would only begin to shape what Gerald Creed, heir to the family, would live to be.  


  
**CHAPTER 1**  


      I was born in the shadow of war and a wall. The land of Gilneas fared better than those territories that surrounded it. This was all due to the Greymane Wall. Built after the Second War against the Alliance of Lordaeron and the brutal Horde, it spans the only passage into Gilneas, save for the ports. The looming, cold stone behemoth stood stalwart against the new threat of Arthas’ unrelenting scourge army. I’ve never seen any land beyond the wall, only stories of the different races, places, and adventures my father and his brothers experienced in far off lands. It was always my dream to get out of the gloomy land of Gilneas, and explore the world properly.

      One light shone through the windows of a warm looking home in the northern headlands of Gilneas. This light belonged to the Creeds, specifically the bedroom of Rosemary and Balthazar Creed, where I and my sister, were scared by the crashing thunder. I was just five, while my sister was barely a year old. Balthazar Creed was a prominent bank owner in the city, therefore making the family fairly wealthy. Though this little slice of the Creed family, at least, rarely spent their own money on themselves, as they donated most of it to orphanages and organizations that helped the homeless population. Rosemary used to be a schoolteacher, but since having my sister, decided to stay at home for a while and take a break from the tiring job.

      Their bedroom was always a haven for me and my sister, even if the weather rampaged out on the front lawn. The soft light emanating from a candle on my father’s side of the bed reminded me that in the darkness, there is always a way to find comfort and that comfort then, was my father. He was a noble man in his own right, younger brother to Hydrahlinus Creed, the current Lord of the family, and older brother to Caspian Creed. The three grew up in poverty when my grandfather worked to feed the family as a miner in the Emberstone mine. Each prospered in their individual fields, and when the time came, my uncle Hydrahlinus took over running the family, and under him, we prospered as nobles in this city, helping it rather than taking it for ourselves. I looked over to my mother, such a beautiful woman in my eyes. She held my sister in her arms, cooing softly to her as her long brown hair draped elegantly over her shoulders. She held every definition of a mother and handled herself as a classy woman in society, which must have been quite the balancing act when I looked back on it. That night was one of the first memories that I can recall, and I look back on it when I am in need of guidance and comfort, and I remember that candle, burning brightly in the midst of the storm.

      Morning came, all four of us tucked into one bed. My sister, of course, woke us all up with her wriggling and whimpers, wanting to get up and eat an early morning breakfast. It was at these times I disliked having a little sister, as my parents wouldn’t pay attention to me as much as they used to. I cuddled close to my father, but he too left to get an early start, allowing me to be by myself in their large bed, so naturally, I had to get out and join them. I squat on one of the steps leading downstairs and silently watched the three as they bustled around the house, chattering and laughing happily, and I felt a bit empty. Both of them focused on the baby, but I wanted their attention. I looked down the stairs, and let my weight shift a bit, causing me to purposefully tumble down the stairs, crying out as I faked injuries. My father stopped to look at me, walking over and leaning down to examine me. I looked up at him and I swear he winked at me; he always seemed to know what I was up to at every moment of the day. He picked me up and set me at the table, leaving to get some bread out of the cabinet.

      Today was special in its own sort of way. Once a month or so my family and I would travel via horse and caring down to the quiet village of Duskhaven. It was about a two hour ride, since my father wanted to avoid the crowded capital of Gilneas City. We had to take the long road around the city, through Stormglen Village and down into Duskhaven. We did this so often to make sure the new branch of my father’s bank stayed secure, and to ensure there were no problems. We were carrying valuable items, so we are going to be escorted by two of my father’s trusted friends and guards, Fredrick Gibbons and Jacob Kirk. I helped my father load up the carriage and hopped in the front, excited and ready to ride with the adults. “Not quite yet, kiddo. When you’re sister is old enough to sit up and not soil her diapers, maybe you can ride up with us, but for right now, I need you to do the biggest job on this ride and look after your sister in the rear.”

      With a grumble and a low sigh I crawled into the back with the boxes, the guards, and my sister. To this day I don’t see why Gibbons and Kirk couldn’t take care of her. I didn’t want to be near her, the crying thief who stole all the attention from me. I will admit it now, back then I was quite shallow and a very needy child. The carriage wasn’t covered, as it was a rare day that the sun shone brightly through the mist. I put my back up against a box and opened up one of my books that I loved to read. The guards talked about their weekends with each other, while my baby sister slept soundly in a plush manger. I looked over at my sister, her small head graced with wispy stands of ebon hair, her face light and calm in a sea of worldly torment. She seemed like a small angel, and maybe she would grow on me, but for right now she would remain my loving enemy.

      Time droned on, the sounds of wooden wheels on the stone pathway along with the two stallion’s hooves clip-clopping putting me in a silent and exhausted trance. We were hardly half way to our destination, and even the guards ran out of adventures to talk about. My mother hummed a folk song that she usually hummed when she was trying to keep herself occupied, and my father was always the strong silent type. We came upon an area in the trip where to our left, cliffs rose over the sea, trees shrouding the lowest reaches of the rocks, and to our right a flat plain that ran into the river that the City was built upon.

      All was calm, until I heard a grunt from one of the guards. My eyes shot up from my book to see an arrow lodged in the neck of one of the guards, Jacob. Fredrick shot upwards, almost topping over the side of the carriage, and yelled a warning to my parents. “Ambush, Mr. Creed! We’ve walked into an ambush!”

      At that moment, all of hell seemed to erupt around us. The birds that once sang in the trees now whooped and hollered, shouting commands in garbled voices. Half a dozen men riding jet black steeds rode down the hillsides, previously hiding amongst the trees. My father whipped his own steeds into a frenzy as the cart lurched forward, which caused my sister to cry out. Our horses galloped down the stone path towards the safety of a still long-off town, while Fredrick took up a position, standing stalwart in the wagon, knees bent, a long sabre in one hand, the other hand a round shield with the emblem of Gilneas on it.

      The black riders were faster, and quickly surrounded the wagon, boxing us in. One rider flew up to the front, leading the carriage, two riders remained on the sides, and yet two more flanked us. With one guard, the odds seemed rather slim. The lead horseman slowed us down, but we were concerned with two riders on our sides, their horses slowly closing in on the sides of the cart. I grabbed my sister and huddled towards the very front of the cart, practically under my mother and father. At once both riders on our sides jumped from their horses onto the cart. Fredrick bashed the man with his shield, and while he was stunned, sent a swift kick to his abdomen, causing him to tumble backwards over the side of the cart, landing fatally on his head. His still body grew smaller as we kept fleeing.

      The second mercenary jumped on behind the guard and slashed as him with his two serrated daggers. Fredrick, struck by the blades, spun around, held up his shield, and thrust his sword out from under it, into the man’s stomach. With the man reeling in pain, Fredrick slashed his sword through the man’s neck, a clean cut. His head rolled off of the cart as his body fell at Fredrick’s feet.  


      The two flankers made their turn now, one jumping from his horse to the back of the cart, the other heading towards the side. Fredrick was caught up with the first mercenary, while the other jumped into the cart and headed straight for my sister and I. The only identification that stuck out of his hooded figure was a red beard. “C’mere ya little gits, come to poppa!” He grumbled under his rancid breath.

      I screamed and backed away as much as I could with my sister. The man held no weapon, but I was terrified nonetheless. Fredrick was being overpowered by a burly man with a sledgehammer, he could not save me now. The man lunged at us, grabbing with his grubby little hands. I could feel the filth around my arm, trying to drag me away. I bit down on whatever I could find as he howled in agony. He yelled some vulgarities I cannot recall and threw me to one side, nearly off of the cart. While dazed, I witnessed him pick up my wailing sister and make to the side of the wagon. As fast I could muster I got up and ran over to him, but it was not enough, He lept from the wagon to his horse, whistling loudly and making haste towards the mercenary at the front of the pack.

      Fredrick finished off his battle, using the burly merc’s momentum against him. The man swung his hammer downwards, bashing it through the floor of the wagon, lost to the road beneath. Fredrick swept the man’s legs out from under him, and buried his sword in the man’s neck. He looked up, his face spattered with blood, seeing the man get away with my sister. He lept from the rear of the wagon, onto one of the men’s horses, whipping it frantically. The stallion galloped towards the front, chasing the two men as they sped away from the wagon.

      My father cursed, my mother screamed as Fredrick chased the two surviving mercenaries. We managed to keep them in sight until they passes Tempest’s Reach, then the three men dipped out of sight. My father kept chase, not even slowing as he rumbled through Stormglen Village, shouting for pedestrians to get out of the way. Shortly after we escaped the village, we spotted three black stallions grazing on the side of the road; across from them was a dirt path, leading towards the water’s edge. We all jumped out of the wagon, running towards the road. My father turned to my mother and me, a stern look on his face, “Stay here, hide by the wagon, I’ll be back when I can.” He pulled out his own sabre and ran down the path.

      We waited only a few minutes before my father and an injured Fredrick returned. Fredrick reported that they impaled his leg once they got to the shore, and escaped on a small rowboat before my father even got there. Fredrick did not have my sister, she was gone to mercenaries, and we had no idea who they were, or what they planned on doing to her. After helping Fredrick into the back of the wagon, we made haste towards the city proper, having to take it slow through the darkened streets of the city. My father and mother hustled into one of the nearby buildings, demanding to speak with the captain of the guard. They told him what happened, and he said he would dispatch men to the coastal towns to track the men down. We dropped Fredrick off at a clinic, and woefully went back home to await any news.

      The first night, nobody slept. In my bed I could only hear my mother weeping in her room, and my father futilely trying to comfort her, though he too was in pieces. I laid there in stunned silence, shocked at what happened.

      First it was one day, then two, then on the third day a guard appeared at our doorstep, his helmet under his arm. “We scoured the shore, no sign of a boat, bodies, or tracks. We asked the locals, and nobody saw anything either. We are sorry to tell you this, but your daughter may have been taken out of Gilneas, and with the wall shut, out of our grasp.”

      My father was on the verge of killing him, but simply gave him a “Thank you,” and closed the door.

      Hope was lost, and we would never fully recover.


	2. Chapter 2

       A few months after the kidnapping, things returned to normalcy, or at least as normal as things could get with a missing member of the family. My father and mother never had that spark that made the house so welcoming, or that made me want to jump into their arms and be caressed so lovingly. The only reason we probably got through this dark point in our lives was for the other members of our family. Besides my mother, my father, I and my sister, there were my two uncles, Hydrahlinus and Caspian, who was married to Aunt Anastasia. Caspian and Anastasia bore two children, Alliana Jaycee, otherwise known as Allijay or just Alli, and Calcifur. Hydrahlinus never married to anyone, giving the popular statement, “I’m too busy trying to keep this family from running into the ground!”  


       I was sleeping in my bed when, from the other side of the room, my door opened ever so slightly, and then closing as it had opened. A small, slender figure danced ever so silently across the floor, and came to the edge of my bed, looking over me with her heterochromatic gaze, one eye green the other eye a bright amethyst purple. Even climbing onto the bed and getting her footing was silent, and when she stabilized herself, she jumped up and down, succeeding in waking me up in a flurry of flailing limbs.

       “GERRYGERRYGERRYGERRYGERRY!” Alli exclaimed, jumping up and down on the mattress, succeeding in her mission to flip me out of the bed and onto the floor.

       I looked up to see who the infiltrator jumping on my safe haven was, but it was just my cousin. I sighed, shaking my head as I got up. Alli was the happiest person I ever knew, as if nothing could get her down. She had red hair that, at the time, was shoulder length, and it was visible that her mother tried to curl it with little avail due to Alli’s active mood. She looked a lot like her father, as most daughters tend to do, but the features were made subtle by her mother’s genes. She was the same age as me, older by only a couple months, but she always bragged about being the older cousin. They didn’t live with us, so I figured Caspian and the family came over for a visit, to check up on my how my parents were coping. I brushed myself off, laughing as any little kid should laugh at such a surprising prank, “Alli! Why are you all here so early?”

       She sat on my bed, crossing her legs and rocking back and forth playfully, “I dunno! Pops just wanted to see how things are going.” She smiled that obvious Creed-like smile, one attribute we all seem to share.

       At that moment, a larger figure opened the door with a bit too much force than needed. It was my cousin Calcifur. He was nine at the time, but he was pretty big for his age, and started to make an interest in staying fit, even going as far as to look into a weightlifting regiment. He had short black hair and a lighter complexion than some others in the family. Calcifur was a bit more reserved around Gerry, being the only cousin that could understand what happened with the kidnapping. Allijay was too young to really comprehend the devastation that it caused on the family. Knowing that his sister already woke Gerry up, he came right in and sat down on my already crowded bed. “Morning lil’ guy, hope Alli didn’t make you wet your bed when she stalked her way up here.”

       I looked up at Cal, both literally and figuratively. Calcifur took things in stride, and he was a strong person both physically and mentally. This moment is when I realized that everyone in my family had some trait they were most known by: Alli’s stealthy moves, Calcifur’s strength, my father’s compassion, my uncle’s willpower, and my mother’s care. I seemed to have nothing to give to the mixture, for I was Gerry, just plain ol’ Gerry. I figured my future was already set out for me. I would work for my father, take over the family business, and help the people of Gilneas with their financial issues, and that was basically it. A boring life, if one thought about everything that was going on outside of Gilneas. I brushed this off, as it should not be thoughts a six year old would have, and responded to my cousin, “Of course I didn’t! I hardly wet the bed anymore!”

       Both of them seemed to find this funny, when I thought it was quite the accomplishment. “Come on, Gerry! Our mothers are making breakfast downstairs! Last one down there is a moldy toad!” Allijay seemed to taunt, which of course brought out a sort of family rivalry in us.

       With just this simple challenge, both Allijay and I sprinted towards the door, which I got to first. We started running down the hallway, bumping into each other on purpose in good humor. Somewhere behind us was Calcifur, chuckling as he followed us with a walking pace, watching us race through the house like wild animals. We got to the stairs and I started hopping quickly from step to step, convinced I was in the lead and that for once I would beat her. Those hopes were dashed as she whizzed by me, sitting on the railing of the staircase laughing. I didn’t give up just yet though. I got to the bottom of the stairs and sprinted through the living room, Alli just ahead of me within arms’ reach. I wanted to win this small feud, so I built up the strength and tackled her just as we entered the small kitchen area. Sure, both of us were laughing on the ground, arguing who won the race, but our mothers didn’t seem to share our enthusiasm.

       Calcifur walked into the kitchen a few moments after our tumble, stopped by the steely gaze of his mother. “Cal, you are supposed to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t get hurt. Don’t let them run through the house, please.” This was my Aunt Anastasia, talking to Calcifur while her eyes were focused on not burning the potato crisps she was frying up.

       “Yes mother, sorry about that, but you know how they are! They slipped right out of my arms and bounded down the stairs like maniacs. There was no way I was going to catch them.” Calcifur futility tried to explain to his mother, but was met with a chuckle and a roll of the eyes.

       I got up off of Allijay, holding out my hand to help her up, which she took gladly, giving a little curtsy, pretending we were nobles like the people Uncle Hydrah always hung around with. We both went over to the kitchen table, where my father and her father were talking about the banking business. Caspian wasn’t a member of the business, but he liked to keep tabs on how the business is doing, especially since my father gave more control to Cyrus Devoux. Cyrus was a shorter man, and portly. He stayed active, but not enough to keep too physically fit. Father said, however, that Cyrus could stand his own whenever they went hunting. Whenever I saw him he was a gentle man, and loved children. I started to consider him like an uncle, and I think my father did too.

       “Listen, brother, I don’t like that you are giving so much power to Cyrus. I don’t trust him like you do. When you have your back turned, I can clear as day see the looks he gives you. You gave him an inch and are just waiting for him to take the entire mile. You have to retain some power so you can make sure he doesn’t try anything dastardly.” Caspian pleaded with my father, who sat there, stern as usual, his green eyes flicking from the papers on the table to his brother.

       Caspian stared at my father with his deep green eyes, waiting for a response from the stoic man. Caspian was shorter than Balthazar, but he was well built, as if he was meant to see battle instead of working in the city. Caspian wore his usual white shirt with a black vest on, a red sash wrapped around his waist, covering the top of his dark pants. He kept his rich black hair trimmed and short, including the goatee that tugged at his chin.

       Balthazar finally sat back, holding the papers he was looking over while Caspian was talking, “Caspian, I don’t think you know Cyrus like I do. We have been working together for years and have been so close; he is basically a member of this family. He has the same compassion for this city as I do, and together we help these people invest wisely and bank in a smart way. I don’t know where you are getting that Cyrus is a bad man, since there is no evidence to back that up.”

       Caspian sighed, “Speaking of investments,” he started, giving up on the previous topic, “I decided to invest in that ship we were talking about. I’m looking to get a permit to sail out and make sure the waters near Gilneas are safe at all times.”

       Balthazar looked at him and smiled. “That is a grand thing to hear, brother. You will make a good sailor. I could picture you as a captain someday. When do you plan on having this going for you?”  


       “Within the next few months, if I am as lucky as some I know. Raleigh got his permit approved in just a week, but you know those men at the port, they are never consistent.”  


       My father nodded at him in understanding and looked at the two of us, who at the time were pulling out our own chairs to sit at the table. I, of course, sat next to my old man, who ruffled my hair and pat me on the shoulder. As I have stated before, my father was my idol. He had a great sense of authority, both in the way he acted, and the way he looked. A strong jaw with bright green eyes that commanded your attention, and made you enjoy being in his presence. He seemed to give off an aura of confidence and grace, even for a man his size, being more than six feet tall. He shuffled the papers, and then he looked at Caspian ready to speak when a knock on the door sounded.

       My father got up from his seat and strode to the door, opening it. Without a word, my uncle Hydrahlinus entered and places his hat and monocle on the table beside the door, offering my father a firm handshake. They greeting each other wordlessly as Hydrah entered the kitchen. Hydrah was a similar skin color as my father, but he was thinner than both of his brothers, and around the same height as my father. Nearly all the Creeds had green eyes, my uncle included, as they darted around the company in the dining room. He turned and formally kissed my mother and Alli’s mother on the cheeks, as he normally does. Hydrahlinus was very formal, but I guess you have to be when you are representing the family in Gilnean politics.

       He walked wordlessly to the table and stood in-between my father and uncle. He put a hand on each of their broad shoulders and squeezed them. Finally he spoke, and we all listened, because it seems like whatever he had to say was always so very important. “It seems as though the family is all accounted for. It is a good chance to get together again and just relax for once. How have things been at home, my dear little brothers? I do hope you two have been close to your darling children here.”

       He then looked at me with the seriousness as a man who was waging a war. You see, Hydrah was a very serious man. He grew up the oldest of the three brothers in the small town of Emberstone, which the nearby mining facility was named after. When he was of age, he helped my grandfather wine the ore that skyrocketed our family to the pinnacle of the social hierarchy, then when my grandfather passed, Hydrah took the reins and propelled us into politics. It was difficult for a boy my age to appreciate the effort that he went through, but looking back on it now, I finally understand the burden he had to bear, and I understood why everything was suddenly so serious.

       “Well, Hydrah, things have been quiet around here most of the time. Gerald just stays in his room and does his schoolwork, or he is over with Alli and Cal, doing whatever kids their age do.” He turned to us as our respective mothers brought plates of breakfast to the table, which I began to dig into like a wolf. I stopped mid bite when I saw that my father was talking about how behaved I was. I straightened my back, put a fresh napkin in my collar, and used the silverware to delicately eat, however much it pained me to do so.

       “Light, I wish my kids were behaved like young Gerry, Bal,” Caspian stated, smiling at his two kids. “These two ragamuffins are always getting into some sort of mischief. Usually it’s Alli who is coming up with some kind of scheme and uses Cal as the muscle behind everything else.”

       Alli piped up almost immediately, “I do not, daddy! I haven’t done anything like that in at least two days! I’ve been a good apple, it’s Cal that makes me do bad things!”

       With a mouthful of eggs Cal twirled the iron fork around in the air, “Yeah, yeah, always my fault. You’re the one sneaking around the Banister’s farm at night, so don’t blame me for any of that poppycock.”  


       Hydrah walked around the table as the two had their little debate on who manipulates who and sat down in an armchair. I always felt a bit out of the family, especially when we were all together. My uncles and father were always so serious about what they do, but neither of my uncles usually show any compassion or mercy when things don’t go their way. My cousins always get into mischief and usually get caught, though thankfully those who catch them don’t turn them into the guard for trespassing or stealing, which is mostly what their free time consists of. On the other hand, I keep to myself and act relatively civilized mainly due to my father’s constant teachings of how a man should act in public. It was no secret that the last thing I’d ever want to do is to be the center of attention, or to lead anything of any kind. I was just content with being background noise.


	3. Chapter 3

        After a long and argumentative breakfast between my cousins, we all decided to go out into the city and see what was going on. Calcifur, of course, had us both by the hand and guided us through the bustling city streets. This day was like any other; dreary, humid, a warm breeze, but one thing that did change was the entire atmosphere from being in Gilneas City. We slowly walked from stand to stand in the market district, seeing the wares from each family that wanted to make some extra gold, when I saw the simplest of items, yet it caught my attention and kept it there.  


       I tugged on Cal’s arm and made a move towards a stand that showcased a small bauble attached to a short stick. The stand was run by an older gentleman who I have never seen before, but to my surprise, he seemed to be asleep. Cal eventually allowed me to walk over there alone while he flirted with a young girl, as he was quite the ladies’ man. I carefully and meekly walked over to the small wooden table that the man was reclined in. He seemed to be in his early fifties, definitely not a young buck. I stared at him for a little while, and then my eyes mischievously darted to the ornate globe on the end of a polished and well-made stick. I slowly brought my hand towards it when the gentleman spoke up without even opening his eyes.  


       “Do we have an eye for that in which many cannot control, my dear lad? Don’t go touching that now; you have no idea what power such a small object contains.”  


       The man opened his eyes and leaned forward. In the better lighting, I could see he was quite frail, which seemed odd to me, since he wasn’t that old. He must have been through a lot, or seen a lot of things. He had a short graying beard, and his face was lined with wrinkles. He had bags under his kind eyes, which were a rich blue. He wore a blue robe with golden accents that covered his entire body, save for his head. I retracted my hand as the man leaned forward, looking to get a better view of me. He had a soft, kind smile on his face, which was somewhat comforting.  


       “S-sorry, sir, I was just gonna look, I swear.” I managed to mutter shamefully.  


       The man seemed to lean back in a chair, “Many of our people don’t practice the arcane anymore, since we’ve had no real uses for it. You see, young one, beyond your gaze there are magical beings, ones that make even the wisest of men ponder on.” He paused, looking and gesturing around, “The only magic these people still follow is the Light, and some druidic magic, but a time will come when they will wish there were more like me around. Tell me, son, would you like to know more of the arcane?”  


       Before I could reply to the strange request a soft hand was laid on my shoulder. It was of my father’s co-worker, Cyrus. Cyrus had a gentle face and a soft smile as he looked at the man. “Lucian, please, spare him your tall tales of magic and fantasy. We don’t want the young Creed getting all worked up in nonsense when he should be focused on his bright future as one of Gilneas’ most powerful bankers.”  


       Cyrus smiled his most genuine smile and I felt at ease, and felt that he was right. Lucian leaned back in his chair without saying another word, but he kept watching me, as if he knew I what I was thinking. He winked at me and reclined his head, resting once more with his eyes closed. Cyrus walked me away from the booth and we toured the square some more.  


       “How is your father doing, Gerry?” Cyrus began.  


       I looked up at Cyrus, he was dressed very well. A dark brown long sleeved jacked covered a fresh white button-down shirt. He wore long pleated pants, with the top of a watch poking out of his pocket. On his feet were shiny black leather shoes, that made an authoritative ‘tap, tap, tap’ noise as we walked. “He’s alright, I suppose. He’s been pretty busy working on the bank. Other than that, I don’t really know what he’s been doing.”  


       Cyrus slowly nodded, “Yes, it must be hard taking on the role the owner of such a large branch. You tell him that if he needs any help, old Uncle Cyrus will be happy to handle things for him. Tell me, Gerald, have you had any word from your sister’s captors on a ransom?”  


       This made me feel some discomfort, as it was difficult for me to remember back to that night without crying, but I stayed strong and gave him the best answer I could.  


       “No, we haven’t.”  


       Cyrus seemed displeased by this, “Well, I do hope that something comes up soon.” He paused, watching my cousins’ approaching us, “Well, Gerald, it was such a good talk we had. I wish you the best in your studies. I will see you in due time.”  


       Cyrus seemed to hurry off down an alley, his long coat flowing behind him. I never thought anything of it, though looking back on it I do find it odd how he came and went. Nevertheless, I met up with my cousins once more and decided we should head back to my house. Calcifur told us that he bought a wooden sword set, one sword for each of us. We walked through the square to leave, when I looked over towards Lucian’s booth once more. The man was gone, and all of his wares too. It was like the man had disappeared without a trace, kind of like magic.


	4. Chapter 4

     Gilneas was a boring place. It rained most of the time, so there wasn’t much to do outside. One day though, that will live on in my memory for as long as I live, was the day that I started to find my own path, and my own destiny.

     We found ourselves trapped in a barn on the other side of town one evening as it poured down rain. Calcifur was fifteen at the time while Alli and I were both seven. We were walking in the woods, as we would normally do on such an uneventful day, just talking about how boring it is inside the territory. None of our family members permitted us to leave the territory of Gilneas, after what happened to my sister.

     In the barn, we all took out our well-worn weapons that Calcifur bought from the market a couple years ago. Alli chose two wooden dagger-shaped pieces, Calcifur chose a wooden shield and long sword, and I happened to choose what I have had seen before. I chose a small stick with a ball attached at the end. I would be lying if I said I didn’t do a little bit of research into the arcane after my encounter with Lucian a few years ago. We all took our stances and played a game that we always used to play. I would go first, being the youngest. The object of the game is the get the other players out of the game by rolling a pair of dice. If the number was over six, your attack hit, but if it was under, you would miss. Each person got three hits, but after that, they were out.

      I waved around my stick and stated, “I send a ball of fire at Alli! If it hit, it would hit her, her clothes would catch on fire and her skin would burn!”

     The dice told me that I missed. Alli danced around me whispering, “I use the shadows to sneak up behind Gerald and punch him in his side. It would hurt a lot and he would take more damage to the next hit made on him!”

      Of course, with my luck, the dice was not on my side and I feigned that I was hurt. Then it was Calcifur’s turn. “With my great shield, I choose to bash Gerald, hopefully throwing him back and interrupting whatever spell he tried to cast.”

      Cal and Alli always worked as a team, which I thought wasn’t exactly fair for me. I lost most of the time because of this, and I would just sit and watch them go at it. Luckily, Cal rolled a four, so the attack missed. It was now my turn. Since they would both gather up on me, I concocted a plan to get them both at the same time. “I, Archmage Gerald Creed, summon a storm of fire to rain down upon the both of you. This rain would weaken the armor that either of you have on!”

      This game went on for hours, and as it was getting into the hour of twilight, each of us had only one hit left. By some means, I was still in the game, but it would be difficult trying to plan something that would hit both of them without an argument going on. I paused for a moment, my wand in front of my face, as if I was actually preparing for an attack. I swished the wand over my head and stated, “A wave of flames would roll towards you both, and if you get hit, then I win!”

      As I flicked my wand forward, time seemed to slow as the tip of the wooden wand started to glow. To my surprise, and everyone else’s, a small ball of flame shot forward, straight towards Alli. She was too slow to react, and Cal quickly tackled her to the ground as the small projectile flew past, hitting the hide of the barn. The barn wall started to burn slowly, and embers fell into the dry hay below. Suddenly fire engulfed a spot on the floor, slowly inching along the hay-strewn ground. I froze in place, still processing what happened. When I came to my senses, Cal was calling my name, already carrying Alli out of the barn.

      Thunder roared as we ran through the woods towards our house. The glow from behind us was getting steadily brighter. We started to hear shouting in the distance, most likely from the owner of the farm. Our footfalls were muffled in the mud and water as we sprinted away from the scene. What would they think if they knew a young boy was behind this? We had no time to look back as we neared my parent’s house. We couldn’t go inside as we were, that would cause too much suspicion, so we went into the cellar through an outside door.

      We panted and huffed as we closed the door behind us. The only thing we heard was our own selves trying to inhale air as quickly as possible. Calcifur crouched on the floor as Alli slumped against a wall, checking her hair for any burns. I sat on the stairs, my hand running through my straight black, and now dripping wet, hair. What had I just done? I just destroyed someone’s property, but how could I have possibly done that?

      Calcifur looked at me and pursed his lips before speaking, “Gerry, what the hell did you do back there? Have you been able to do that?”

      I stuttered something incoherent, but I didn’t have any answers for him. I only had more questions than he did. “I…I don’t k-know, it just…phwoom!” I said as I made a flaming gesture with my hands.

      Cal stood up straight, trying to think of some kind of explanation. “Alright,” he paused, “We tell nobody. Not our parents, not even ourselves. That’s right, this never happened. We have no idea what will happen if someone found out that Gerald just destroyed a barn by using some magical flame or…whatever that was.”

      Calcifur seemed as nervous as I had ever seen him. He was truly concerned about my well being and the well being of the family reputation if word ever got out about any of this. For the next few days, I would be in my room, trying to repeat the process, but nothing happened. What triggered the flames? Why can’t I do it again, and why was everyone so nervous about it? Truth be told, when looking back on it, nobody ever used any type of magic that I saw, so maybe others would find it strange, and I’d bring a bad reputation onto the family.

      We never went back to that barn, and we never played that game again. My cousins still spent time with me, but they seemed more leery of me. Lucky for me, they never treated me any differently, they just saw what I have done, and an aura of mystery surrounded me. For once in my life, there was something that made me stand out amongst my peers. I created fire from nothing. Perhaps there was something behind my boyish looks after all, though I wouldn’t find out for months, though I desperately wish it were on better terms.


	5. Chapter 5

    “You are standing like you have an ear of corn lodged in your arse, boy!” my uncle barked at me.

    I adjusted my footing so that my right foot was leading, my left foot close behind me, making sure my feet were pointing towards my uncle, Caspian. The once cold metal that I gripped turned warm and sweaty as the day drew on; this was the fourth hour of training with a blade. He had been training me for about eight months, and deemed me prepared to graduate from wooden swords to blunted, but still painful rapier style swords, even to my protests. He padded me up with rough leather clothing, so that I may not feel every jab and whack of the sword, but I knew I would have bruises come morning, as usual.

    Uncle Caspian built quite the training yard in the area behind his large house. The main feature was a ring of sand, surrounded by battered wooden dummies. The view from his yard was magnificent; the yard, surrounded by a low stone wall, and beyond that, a long drop into the churning waters of the sea. Their house sat on a sea cliff, as Caspian always loved the sounds and smell of the ocean. There were days when he’d spend his time looking out at the vessels leaving and returning to the nearby kingdom of Lordaeron, but those days had long past with the great nation falling to the undead scourge.

    He stood there, clad in his mail armor, which he told me he always wore when fighting, his face stoic as stone, flipping the sword restlessly in his hand, waiting for me to assume a defensive stance. “This is the basics, Gerry, if you do not have this down by now then there is no hope of you ever defending yourself. This is crucial in these times, Gerry, you above all should know that,” he paused, observing me, “Loosen your grip a little, kid, your sword should be an extension of your arm. No matter where you go in this world, little man, war shall follow, I can promise that, which is why you need to master some form of defense!”

    Without warning he lunged, his blade arcing gracefully to my left, giving me a mere second to raise my own to parry. Once the blades hit, he switched, and the sword came whizzing to my right, at a downward angle. My arm flew to block his attack, now pushing his sword back with my small amount of strength. He stepped back and to the side, causing me to push right past him. I felt the sharp thwack of his sword on my back. “Death is your best bet in your situation, or you may be cursed with paralysis of your lower limbs.” He swept his short hair back and paced back, calling out, “Back into position, we are running through this again!”

    I faced him once more, huffing, assuming the stance I’ve tried to master for hours. Caspian did the same, then took steps towards me, his sword angled towards me, ready. I took a step back for every step he took towards me. He swung his sword lightly towards me, easy shots to block. “Good,” he mused, “Very nice footwork.”

    He suddenly lunged towards me, I took a step back. He ducked and swung a leg out in a sweeping motion, which caught my lead leg and made me tumble into the sand. I rolled over in order to get up, only to be met with the dull tip of his rapier poking my throat. “If you are taken to the ground, you have already lost.” He stated sternly, taking his sword away and helping me back up.

    “I don’t want to do this anymore, uncle; I’m no good with a sword!” I stammered, winded from the fall, “We’ve been doing this for hours, and I’m only eight!”

    He scoffed, walking away from me to sit on a nearby bench, “Come sit with me Gerald.”

    I did as he asked, and sat next to him, relieved we were at least taking a break, He looked out over to the cliff, “Do you know what age I started teaching Calcifur? Six. He held a sword by the age of four, though. He took to it like a fish takes to the water, and he’s never put it down for more than a few hours. Your mother and father, they wouldn’t want you learning all this, but I can see a storm on the horizon, Gerald. Something does not sit right with this old man, and we must all be prepared for the future. As we speak the undead rise in the north, and the worgen loom closer and closer to the wall.”

    There may come a day when war arrives at our shores, and in that hour, the strong people of Gilneas must be prepared to defend their homes, and their families. Remember Gerald, family should always come first. They’re the first ones to support you, and they will until their dying breath. Hydrahlinus can’t seem to wrap his head around that,” he stated with a sigh, “I see the old codger maybe once or twice a month, when he’s not trying to put himself on such a high horse. Do not mistake me, though, he has out best interests in mind, but I do wish he would spend more time with us, especially in these troublesome days.”

    I nodded, and we sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the waves. “You need to work on your maneuvers. When facing a larger enemy, you need to be faster, ‘cause you will not be stronger. Out-maneuver him; use your environment to your advantage. If you can tire him out, then the rest is simply finding a time to strike. You got that?”

    I nodded, “Yeah, seems simple enough, I’ll just need more practice is all.”

    “Well with the holidays coming, we won’t have a lot of training time, but we will meet when we can, and we will work on your evasion techniques.” He paused, “You know I’d do anything for your parents and you right? I’d travel to the ends of the earth for you all. While you’re terrible at swordplay, you’re a bright young man, and I’m going to be proud of what you become.” He tussled my ebon hair, causing strands to fall into my face. “You’ll find your own path one day, and it may be the path of your father, or you may blaze your own. Whatever it is though, you shall be great at it.”

    With that, we sparred a couple more times before Caspian called it a day. We retired to his house, where I had dinner with him, my Aunt Anastasia, Allijay, and Calcifur. I reflected what my uncle had told me while he escorted me home. Perhaps he saw something the rest of us didn’t, or maybe seeing too much war had made him paranoid. Only time would tell, I thought to myself. When we got to my front gate, he let me go in on my own. As I got to the door he called out, “Gerald, if I do not see you again, have a blessed Winter’s Veil!”


	6. Chapter 6

    It was around the time of Winter’s Veil when my life began to change. The week before the eve of Winter’s Veil my father called me into his study to speak to me personally. Darkened wood bookshelves lined the walls of the room, and a large desk sat in the center. This room was dimly lit, only a lantern on the desk was aflame. We sat in the room; a long silence overtook us as my father gathered his thoughts and words. Meanwhile, I was thinking what I did wrong to make him want to talk to me. Did he learn that I somehow burned down the barn?

    After a few minutes my father cleared his voice, “My son, when you were born, I saw greatness in your eyes, knowledge on your face, and pride in the palm of your hand. Every night, before I rest my eyes, I picture you as a man, but you will not follow in my footsteps,” He paused, seeing the look of curiosity on my face. “I see you going to distant lands, meeting diverse people, some of which you would have never wanted to meet. In a way, you may have a much harder life than I will ever have, even in my old age.”

    He paused again, slowly nodding as his folded hands sat in front of him on the desk. He looked up, smiling proudly at me. “I see nothing but greatness in you, my son, but for now, you must take an apprenticeship at the bank, so when I retire, you may already be in a position to take the reins. You will be working with Mr. Devoux at the bank starting next week, learning the ropes and guidelines. When you come of age, you will be a skilled banker already and be able to care for your own family, whenever that comes about.” He winked at me, “No rush on the family, though.”

    It was a lot to take in at once. I was finally going to follow my father in his line of work. Normally, children my age would be moaning and groaning about having to work, especially at the young age of eight, but I was excited, if only for the sole reason that I got to spend more time with my old man. I smiled at him, excited, but before I could respond, he spoke again. “One more thing, Cyrus can’t make our annual hunting trip for Winter’s Veil, but I am still going to need company out there in the wilderness. What do you say, son, want to see how your old man hunts?”

    This had to be one of the most fulfilling days of my life. I was finally going to see my dad in action, hunting bucks and fox in the highlands of Gilneas. He always brought back the main course for our Winter’s Veil feast, and I always wondered how he brought down such majestic beasts. I readily said that I would go with him, and once he explained to me that I was to stay back and quiet during the hunt, we left his office for another wonderful dinner made by my mother.

    We sat around the table, my father filling my mother in on his plans for me. She was one to freely speak her mind, so it wasn’t surprising what she said.

    “No, my son will not be out there with you hunting. What if there’s an accident and he runs off? What if the gun misfires and hurts him? What if an animal is rabid, and attacks?” She shook her head, “No, no, no. He will stay here with me and help me cook. He’s not yet old enough to be out there, even if he has supervision.”

    My father then spoke up, “Dear, have you seen him around his peers? He’s very mature and knowledgeable for his age. He can most definitely handle himself in the field. We don’t want him to feel stuck inside the house cooking and cleaning, that’s not his role in society. He needs to learn how to be aggressive and hunt. He needs to learn how to take charge. Once Hydrah and I pass, he’ll be the man of the family, and he can’t make decisions wisely without being both knowledgeable and aggressive.”

    My mother, frustrated with the stubbornness of my father, asked him to talk with her privately in the living room. They walked out as I sat at the table alone, slowly eating my dinner. I could hear their muffled voices getting louder from the other room, I still remember my mother yelling “He’s not ready to see something die in front of him!”

    This argument went on for a good while before their voices quieted. I could hear them coming back into the kitchen, my mother sternly telling my father, “If anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive you.”

    It was obvious that my mother wanted to protect me, having only one child to survive. My mother was hit hard by the loss of my sister, as any parent would. She watched over me like a hawk, made sure I had everything I wanted, and tried to teach me to not put myself in harm’s way. It was like she still had two children, but invested enough parenting for two kids into one. At the time it was annoying, but looking back on it, I realized that she loved me wildly, and I would never have that again.

    During the week ahead, my father and I spent a lot of time together talking about both the politics of the banking system, and the tactics of hunting. The build-up was a bit too much to bear, but finally the day came.


	7. Chapter 7

    I awoke to a gentle touch of my father. I hadn’t slept well the night before due to the excitement that filled me. It was still dark outside, but the sun threatened to peek over the horizon as the distant sky was dimly lit. In Gilneas, however, it was a normal foggy morning, gray clouds hung overhead, ready to snow at any moment. I dressed in multiple layers, and to my father’s advice, I dressed in darker and earthy colors. We had to blend in so that the game would not spot us and run off. My father told me to go into my mother’s room and say goodbye to her, a wise idea.

    I slipped into my parent’s bedroom, looking instinctively at the window, where the candle that was once lit every night sat, cold to the touch, as it had not been lit since my sister disappeared. I walked silently over to my mother’s side of the bed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Mama, we are leaving now.”

    She softly woke up and smiled at me. She sat up, encouraging me to sit next to her on the bed. She spoke softly and sweetly, probably the opposite of what she truly felt that morning.

    “Alright, Gerry, I want you to look after your father, alright? Make sure he’s on his best behavior, but more importantly, make sure he’s careful with his gun. I hope you get to see some amazing beasts today, and I’ll be waiting for you when you get home to give you a big hug. I’m going to invite Uncle Hydrahlinus and Caspian and their families over for dinner tonight, won’t that be fun?”

    I nodded and smiled at her, understanding what she was saying. Nothing could go wrong today. My father’s been doing this for years. I looked up at her, “Alright mom, I’ll keep a good eye on him! Can you make your special gravy tonight, please?”

    She smiled at me and nodded, “Of course, anything for my little man. Now, you should get going, or your father might go without you.”

    She held me close to her, and the moments seemed to slow. When she let me go I hopped off the bed, “Love you mom, see you later!”

    She looked at me as any mother would look at their son, with pride. “Love you too, dear. Be good. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    The fog surrounded us as we stalked through the woods of northern Gilneas, looking for a nice buck to bring back to the feast. Not a word was said between my father and I, as not to scare away any unseen prey. We came upon a fallen log and decided to settle down there. My father has seen many bucks the last few times he hunted in this area, and was convinced that one would pass by given patience and time.

    We sat there for hours, watching and waiting. The sun started to pierce the horizon as the fog dissipated. We peeked over the log as not to be seen by those that we hunted. Any other child would seem bored by just waiting, but I felt excited, that at any moment our prey would come into focus. It helped that I loved being with my dad, who I don’t see very often. I loved over at him. He had his gun aimed, resting on the log. His finger wasn’t on the trigger, but he was ready if something were to step into view.

    His long hair was tied in a ponytail behind his head as his green eyes darted around the trees before him. His breathing was steady, his posture stiff, absolutely silent and ready for anything. Even the air around him seemed to still in his presence, no birds were singing, not even a mouse ran across the strewn crunchy leaves. It was him and I, alone in a still void, and I would have it no other way.

    Suddenly, in the distance, a shadow emerged. My father quietly put his finger on the trigger; waiting to see what this being was that approached them. At first, it was small, the size of a dog, but as it neared, it grew to the size of a human, only silhouetted by the fog. My father released his finger from the trigger, seeing as how it wasn’t an animal. The figure broke through the fog. To our surprise, it was my father’s associate, Cyrus Devoux. I looked at my father, wondering why Cyrus would be here. My father started to stand as he recognized his friend.

    “Cyrus! You told me you couldn’t make it today. Well, now we know why there’s no game out this morning. You seemed to have scared it off!”

    My father and Cyrus shared a laugh at my father’s observation, but I did not say a word. I stood by my father, now holding his former stiff posture. Something didn’t seem right.

    “I’m sorry, something came up. I went over to your place to see if you were still there, but Rose said you and young master Gerry already left. I’ve been searching for hours for you, but then I remembered our favorite spot, and here you are. Rose asked me to give you something.”

    My suspicions peaked as he grabbed a good sized brown sack from his pack. I noticed that Cyrus went hunting without a gun. He only seemed to have a knife in a leather sheath strapped to his belt. Cyrus turned around with the sack in his hand and threw it to my father. Instinctively, my father dropped his gun and caught the bag. He laughed and made some comment on how he still had it in him.

    He removed one of his hands that were supporting the bag. As he brought it up, he grunted in alarm. The palm of his hand was covered in what seemed to be blood. My father looked at Cyrus, mouth slightly agape as he opened the bag. Cyrus stared at him, smirking lightly, expecting a good reaction. Everything moved in slow motion from there on.

    My father opened the bag as horror struck his face. His mouth twisted down and outward into a scream as his brows furrowed in despair. I stepped backward as the bag dropped to the ground, revealing the head of my mother, frozen in fear. I too screamed for my mother, I screamed for my family, and I screamed for the past that I would never see again. My father, a slow rage coming over him as he realized what Cyrus had done, leapt at the man, but was struck by the butt of his own gun. In the confusion, Cyrus picked up the gun, his hands covered in a white handkerchief.

    My father fell hard on his side, his head hitting against the ground, mouth spurting blood as he gasped for breath. He scrambled backwards until his back hit against the fallen log. He looked at me with desperate eyes, trying to speak, but his words were muffled by his attempts to breathe, “Gerry…”

    That was all he could get out before he was hit again with the butt of his gun. Cyrus looked at me with a devilish smile, and lunged himself at me as I tried to turn and flee the scene. He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me towards him, nearly dislocating my shoulder. He held me in front of him, forcing me to watch my father suffer beneath us. An eerie whisper came out of Cyrus’ mouth, only loud enough for me to hear. “Do you see this, young boy? Prosperity and fame cannot save a man. It cannot make a man invincible. He’s going to die,” He paused, softly chuckling, “You are going to watch and partake in his final moments, and then you shall be next.”

    I could do nothing, petrified in fear. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t scream, and couldn’t fight back. My father tried to speak, but blood was filling his mouth, blocking his final words. One of Cyrus’s hands left my shoulder and brought the rifle my father carried to my side. I looked up at him, this demon who masqueraded as my father’s friend, and shook my head. He forced the gun into my grip, holding his hands over mine to keep it in place. He spoke again, “You are going to pull the trigger, Gerald. You will live your short life with this guilt. You kill him, or I will kill you so very slowly, ever so slowly, days on end. I will punish you to an inch of your life every day until you can take no more. Do it.”

    My breath was fleeting as I looked with horror down at my father. He spat a mouthful of blood on the ground and looked at me, “Gerry…do what he says.” He paused, breathing heavily, “This is not the end, and you will do great things. I see greatness in your eyes, knowledge on your face, and pride in the palms of your hand…Mommy and Daddy love you, Gerry, we love you so very much, and we’ll always be with you.”

    I couldn’t breathe, tears streamed down my face as I shook my head, “No, no…daddy no…” I had to pause, to watch him, but he did nothing to stop this.

    “I love you Daddy.” I said with faded breath.

    “DO IT NOW, YOU DAMNED BRAT!” Cyrus yelled, impatient.

    Cyrus’s yelling made me jump, and my finger pulled the trigger of the gun. I must have erased that moment of my father’s demise from my memory, because the next thing I recall is facing Cyrus, who now had the gun. The still of the woods was broken, the peace shattered. Cyrus threw me to the ground, reloading the rifle. “This would all have been solved if your dear old dad didn’t promise you my job. MY JOB, MINE! I WILL RUN THE BANK, I WILL BE KNOWN IN THIS CITY!”

    Something had to be done. I processed this scenario in my eight year old brain. His knife was still in his sheathe. It was either do nothing and be killed, or try to escape and risk being killed. Either way, things seemed grim. I readied myself to pounce from the ground, and when he looked at the rifle to which he was loading, I sprang from my rest and lunged towards his sheathe. I ducked under his grabbing arm as I tugged at the hilt of the knife. It wasn’t long before the blade came loose.

    I held the blade in my hand, and for half a second I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think I would get this far. With quick thinking I plunged the knife into the back on Cyrus’ thigh. He howled in pain, falling onto one knee. I glanced to my right, at the head of my mother and the broken body of my father, both looking at peace together. Without another moment to waste I turned around and sprinted headlong into the fog veiled woods. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew anywhere was better than with Cyrus. A single shot embedded itself into a tree just to my right. I ducked slightly, but continued running. Cyrus was calling my name as the distance between us grew apart.

    “Gerald! GERALD! You won’t survive out there! You’ll be dead before mid-day. Goodbye, Gerald Creed! You killed your family, and soon you shall die as well!”

    I cried as I ran, slowing down the farther I got from him. I felt light-headed, I felt depleted, but before I could catch my breath, I tripped and fell to the earth, everything at once, turning to black.


	8. Chapter 8

      While the darkness enveloped me, my mind replayed the horrific incident over and over, each time as horrifying as the last. During that time, I do not know what happened, but what I remember next was the slow, savory smell of venison cooking. My senses slowly crept back as I slipped into consciousness once more. I didn’t open my eyes, and I kept very still. I lay on a soft substance; I rolled my head to one side, trying to get a feeling for wherever I may be. I was on a bed, furnished with heavy blankets and a down-filled pillow. Fear suddenly shook me to my core. Did Cyrus follow me, was I in his house, kept captive and soon to be slain for a simple job?

      I opened my eyes slowly, my vision blurring in the low light of the house. My sight came back as I glanced around my peripherals, still not moving my head, careful to not make much noise. The house was small and drafty, by the looks of the cracks between the roof and the wall. The walls were stone built, and they see to be crafted by hand, very skillfully, with the wooden roof sitting on it. Next to the bed was a bookshelf, and from the books that I saw, they seemed old and close to decaying if one should pick them up. The fireplace close to me cracked with a low fire, filling the house with warmth and an orange glow. A candle was lit on a desk at the far side of the room, half illuminating a figure that sat at the desk, hunched over. All I saw of him was a large coat and a dark hood covering his figure.

      The room I was in was small, but it seemed like it would be cozy enough if I actually wanted to be here. The bed was butted up against one side of the wall, next to it was that bookcase, and next to it, the fireplace. The figure couldn’t have been more than seven feet away from where I lay. The heavy wooden door stood square in the middle of the longer wall, across from the fireplace. If I moved quietly enough, I could escape and head to my uncle’s house to get help.

      I slipped from the bed, my bare feet padding ever so softly on the floor as I took in shallow breaths. The glow of the fire softly illuminated the inside of the cabin, but I tuck to the shadows like a burglar. Only a couple feet sat the shrouded figure, writing slowly in the dim light. I took a slow but deep breath and quickly opened the door, quickly running out into the cool night air. I was about to yell for help when I stopped dead in my tracks just outside of the door.

      The cool, misty air covered me as I took in my surroundings. There was no civilization in sight, neither a porch light or smell of a fireplace to be found. There was a fence around the house, with a small wooden gate leading in and out of the property. The lawn was somewhat overgrown with vines reaching over the fence towards the house, and streams of moonlight could barely be seen under the canopy of the massive trees. I had no idea which way the city was, and it was too risky to try and find my way in these thickets.

      A low groan came from behind me; I turned around to see the figure in the doorway, illuminated from behind by the fire. He spoke in a raspy whisper, as if it was difficult for the man to speak at all. “Welcome to my small domicile. I can’t allow you to depart just yet, for your own well-being. You may as well return under my roof and make yourself comfortable, before you catch an illness.”

      He turned and walked back into the quint looking house. I stepped back to see the house in its entirety. It seemed as if the room I was in was the main room, which contained a bed, desk, a fireplace, and bookshelves. Two long hallways went from that room to the right and behind the house, offering two smaller rooms. I peered beside the house, where a cellar door left unopened. As I viewed the exterior of the house, off in the distance I heard howling. The notorious wolves of the highlands would be near this time of night, and it would be best to keep inside until dawn.

      I slowly slipped my way back inside the house. Still not knowing who my host was, I closed the door behind me and sat near the hearth. The sound of shuffling feet came from the short hallway until an elderly man emerged, his head balding, save for a ring of silver hair crowning his head. Upon his chin was a short beard, which hung off of his face a couple of inches. He must have dressed himself to be presentable. He had slippers on, with a long woolen robe. He hobbled over to me, giving me a light smile and slowly sat in the chair next to me with a groan. The only sound for a while was the fire before he broke the silence. “You were laying in the brush early this morning when I found you. A young man should not be adventuring this deep into the wilds by his lonesome.

      It was then I finally recalled what had happened to me. Without warning I began to weep, folding myself over in the chair, and my hands up to my face. My cries echoed in the house as the old man sat there, watching me with pity. He departed to the other side of the room, fetching a plate of bread and wild berries. He put it on a small table between our two chairs. With time, my tears dried, but the sorrow still ached inside me. I lifted my head and wiped my eyes, looking to the old man. I shook my head, unable to tell him what happened right now. He knowingly nodded his head, and with a word to himself, got up and threw another log into the fire, which roared up in reply.

      Finally he spoke, “Visitors do not come out here anymore. I make my way into the city to sell my wares, but there are few who are interested in them. You remember, don’t you?”

      I looked up at him, sniffling still. In the light I now recognized him as the man who was in the market the day Cyrus came up to him. I nodded slowly before taking the plate of food and started eating it. He let me eat a bit before speaking again, “My name is Lucian Kinsley, and as you can see, I am not welcomed in the city save for the rare occasion. Not many trust magic anymore, thus they do not place their trust in me. I am afraid to say that we are both alone.”

      With that, I began to weep again. Lucian reeled back, realizing he should not have said that to an eight year old. He stuttered and blubbered to himself, trying to find a way to calm me down. He got up and quickly got me a blanket, putting it around me, and sat down next to me. “My boy, it’s alright. Hey, don’t worry about this, for it shall pass. You will become stronger for this, and I see in you, a power that can be kindled. You can rise from this, Gerald, I know you can, you are strong.”

      I looked up with red weepy eyes, feeling hopeless as I shook my head. “I want my family, I want to go home.”

      Lucian took me by the shoulders, “He’s out there Gerald. If he knows you are alive, he’ll finish the job. I cannot allow you to make yourself known, even to your family, at least not now. We must give it time, and I can help you become stronger through this, you must work with me though.”

      I had no choice but to trust him. I couldn’t run off into the fog, trying to find my way back. Make no mistake, that was not the end of my crying. Even to this day, I weep for that day that I my life changed. That night Lucian made a hardy meal, but I hardly ate. It was at night when I first woke up, so after dinner I went back into a guest room and laid down. Perhaps the light of day would help my mind make sense of all this.

      My rest was interrupted by cold-sweats and nightmares, but then morning came, and I was awoken by the smells of smoked meats and roasted herbs. With the bleak light streaming through the window, I finally got a good look at the room around me. This small guestroom was a simple design. The bed was in the corner, on the back wall to the right of the door, yet another bookshelf next to this bed. Two windows faced each other on two sides of the room, and under the far window sat a table with dusty books stacked high atop it. Mr. Kinsley walked in with a plate of smoked pork strips and eggs with green herbs on them. I looked with awe at the platter before me, and ate ravenously.

      After breakfast, I walked into the main room, where Lucian retreated to while I ate. He was reading a newspaper, shaking his head. When I walked up, he folded the paper in half quickly and put it in a drawer. “Good morning, Gerald. I hope you slept well. I have a favor to ask of you, and I am ashamed to ask it. You may have seen, this house has…seen better days. You are a young man who I am, well, keeping here. I would like to know if, to pass the time, you could do some work around here to help me spruce up the place.”

      I looked at him with compassion while he spoke. I had time to think during the dark hours of the night. This man saved my life, and was protecting me. “Mr. Kinsley, I’d be glad to help you clean. What else would I do while I’m here?”

      Lucian smiled at me. “You have been through so much, but you are already following my advice. You shall become strong, starting today. You won’t be doing much, dusting, a bit of sweeping. I shall make it up to you, once you are prepared. “

      For the next few weeks under Lucian’s watch, I helped him around the house, and with time, it started to look like a home again. Lucian cleaned the windows and moved furniture. He was surprisingly strong for his age, which seemed to be in the mid-sixties. The light shone fresh through the clean windows, and the air more crisp, no longer suffocating and oppressing. The house seemed to have hope again, it seemed to have new life living inside it, and all throughout, I bonded with Lucian, learned some more about him, and learned that we had something in common. We were both alone, and we had both lost things dear to us.


	9. Chapter 9

      Lucian Kinsley was born to a couple of ordinary folk in Gilneas half a century ago. His parents lived simply in the region of Gilneas during the peaceful times before the war. His brother, Nathaniel, was just a few years younger than him, and Lucian protected him every step of the way, from anything that came their way. Yet there was one thing Lucian could not protect his little brother from, and that was the oncoming storm.

      Lucian’s father was a fisherman, who sold his wares at the Gilnean market. When Lucian grew of age, he worked with his father, as did his brother soon afterwards. He never made much, but it was enough to put bread on the table and keep a roof over everyone’s heads. His father was a handsome man, whose dream was to open his own fishery and run a thriving business that would boost his family into the upper echelons of society. That was before the war, that was before the devastation, that was before the Horde.

      The first war came about, a portal to a fresh hell tore open in the Black Morass with the help of Medivh, who was under the influence of the dark titan, Sargeras. The human King, Adamant the Third of the kingdom of Stormwind was caught by surprise by the new threat as the orcs launched a swift attack on Stormwind Keep, and was forced to send his son and wife away to Northshire Abbey. King Adamant died during the war, and his son, the new King Llane of Stormwind, at the age of twenty, fought against the orcs for the next ten years. The attack against the orcs after the first war began the Second War, which resulted in the assassination of Llane, the imprisonment of the orcs, and the death of Gul’dan and the disappearance of Medivh. 

      King Llane, after the first war, pleads to King Terenas Menethil of Lordaeron and made an Alliance to push back the threat of this new Horde. King Greymane looked down upon the other Kingdoms, knowing that the Gilnean army did not need their protection, but that they needed the strength of Gilneas. Reluctantly, Greymane pledged his allegiance and his men to the Alliance, albeit late in the war. Many able bodied men went into the war, including the Kinsley brothers.

      During the first war, and most of the ways into the second war, word spread around Gilneas of the Lordaeron Alliance and the involvement of Gilneas. Some of the population wished to help their fellow humans, yet many others wished to stay out and protect their young ones from the devastating Horde. Lucian and Nathaniel worked hard with their father to open their fishery, and it was nearly complete when the draft came, and all able-bodied men were sent to the front lines. Lucian was forty-six, and his brother forty, not exactly young, but in this time of desperation, the Kingdoms needed everyone that could wield a sword.

      However, Lucian was not interested in swords. Mages from the nearby kingdom of Dalaran arrived in Gilneas to find new potential. Lucian was drawn to them, and wished to know of their arcane art, and quickly learned their secrets, even surpassing his peers. He received further teachings when he and his brother helped push back the orcish threat into the southern regions of the continent, rallying behind one true banner, the banner of the Alliance. The human Alliance pushed back the invaders to the Swamp of Sorrows, which soaked up the blood of both sides like a sponge, and recorded all loss that happened during this tragic period of history. 

      Here Lucian and his beloved brother prepared for the last push of the Horde, the final blow that would end the bloodbath that was the Great Wars. The army stood in the murky, insect infested swamp. The stench of blood and body odor wafted through the prepared ranks. Lucian and the mages projected a field of camouflage, encapsulating the entire platoon as they watched the orc camp of Stonard. The captain, perched atop his horse, barked orders to the despondent men, who thought about going home, to a rebuilt Stormwind, and to their families, if they were alive. All that was required was to surprise the enemy in the night, and burn the village, forcing them back towards the Dark Portal. 

      Lucian and his fellow magi, upon request, let the dome fade, and with only torch light as their guide, they marched to the sleeping camp, and invaded. Though the Horde were caught by surprised and suffered many casualties the first few minutes of the attack, they quickly retaliated and fought feverishly against the humans. The orc women and children fled, but even they were hunted down, if at all possible. It was a most merciless slaughter, one that is hardly spoken of in the annals of history. Burning buildings illuminated the blood-soaked ground with savage light, as both man and orc fell in battle. 

      Lucian and the mages burned the buildings as Nathaniel and the other swordsman guarded their work. It was a last ditch effort by the horde to save their newfound home. A dozen rushed the mages and swordsmen as a gruesome battle ensued. Orc after orc were cut down by the tactical training of the human warriors, yet one large orc, larger than the rest, wielded an axe that thirsted for death. He charged into the human rank, cutting down the infantry, it was only a matter of time before the mages were cut down. Nathaniel, a strong man in his own right, did battle with the behemoth, evading his heavy axe and striking decisive blows. It was with one last thrust the black blood of the orc spilled, yet with his dying breath, he swung his great axe, and ended Nathaniel’s short yet valorous life.

      Lucian, after the fall of Stonard, fought with a new zeal against the brutish horde, helping to drive them back to the Dark Portal, and lay to waste their vast armies. After the war, Lucian returned home to Gilneas to bury his brother, but his life was never the same again. He mourned for his brother, and for his simple life before the war. Greymane, apparently, felt the same way, since soon after the war was over, they Greymane Wall was built. Gilneas was isolated and self-sufficient, but at what a terrible cost it would bring.

      Greymane did indeed close off Gilneas from the rest of the kingdoms, completely isolated from troubles of the world. Yet Gilneas had their own grave problems. During the height of the third war, the undead rose from their graves at the will of the Lich King, and the people of Lordaeron pleaded and begged for their lives to be spared, and for Greymane to open the gate and let them seek refuge, but the gates did not open. Many could be seen camping at the gates, never giving up hope that Greymane would change his mind and keep them safe.

      During this time, Lucian procured a position on the King’s court, apprentice to the Archmage Arugal, a mage from Dalaran. Tensions were high in the house of Greymane. Genn seated on his throne, his son Liam seated beside him, holding council in his throne room. Arugal and Lucian stood on the other side of the room. A heated discussion was taking place on what to do about this new threat, but a compromise could not be found amongst the group. Liam had little say, but the main argument was between Lucian and Arugal, for Greymane to judge. 

      The topic of discussion was the growing threat of the undead and the peasants on the other side of the gates. For weeks rumors in Gilneas have been growing, and the people becoming restless. Talk of an uprising brewed in the streets, and people were becoming prepared to protect their families. Arugal wished to see the undead destroyed quickly to turn to the uprising, which seemed much more important in the eyes of many. Lucian, on the other hand, wished the gates to be opened and the people of Lordaeron to be invited in, as to increase the public’s view of their King, and to protect innocent lives. 

      Greymane was left with the choice, and after careful deliberation, he sided with Arugal and his master plan. Lucian however believed this would result in the end of Gilneas as they knew it, and stepped down from the King’s council. Kinsley removed himself from all society, choosing to live in the wilderness, though even there he was plagued by the decisions of Arugal and Greymane. Arugal’s plan was to summon the worgen, a species of half man and half beast to ravage the undead armies, which at first, went as planned. Then, once the worgen had no more undead to hunt, they turned on the humans, mercilessly attacking the Lordaeron refugees, and turning them into what they were. Since then, the worgen have been steadily climbing the wall, plaguing Gilneas in the years to come. 

      Arugal went insane soon afterwards, holing himself up in a nearby keep, Shadowfang, overlooking the village that he massacred. Greymane wished for Lucian back, but the man fell off the grid, not wanted to get involved with society and politics. He only went into the city once a month to sell his hand made wares, and didn’t stick around too long afterwards. He used the lessons he learned in the war in order to fend for himself. He hides his house from would-be thieves and the King’s men using a weak camouflage barrier. 

      For the past few years he’s lived in solitude, hiding from society, until the fateful day he was gathering herbs and came upon a young man lying unconscious in the woods, blood spattered on his clothes. He felt a sense of pity and nursed him back to health.


	10. Chapter 10

      Lucian and I bonded closely while fending for ourselves. In a sense, Lucian became a second father to me. After a few months of discipline and work, I started to mature and come to terms with the demise of my parents. It was eight months after my parents had been murdered that my scar opened up once more, the old haunting pain jabbed at me again. I stayed at the estate while Lucian sold his wares and supplies in the market. He didn’t want me joining him for fear of publicity. It would make a big story that the son of one of the most successful bankers has appeared after the better part of the year of being assumed dead. 

      It rained that afternoon, as it did most afternoons in the gloomy peninsula of Gilneas. The door opened as I sat by the fire, reading one of Lucian’s old tomes. His figure stood hunched in the doorway, his cloak bent around him like a druidic monk. He entered the house, sighing and brought his hands up to unveil is face from under his hood. His wrinkled and greying face seemed to turn down at the sight of me. He nodded his head shallowly towards my direction as his undid the knot that held his cloak together. He closed the door softly behind him and walked over towards the hearth, laying out the coat near it so it would dry. He sat in a chair adjacent from me without a word. We sat in silence, I reading, him staring deeply into the blaze under the mantle. Finally, after uneasy minutes he spoke.

      “Gerald,” he sighed, “We have to talk about your parents.” He turned to me, lowering his gaze to the book in my lap as I gently closed it.

      I breathed deeply. I still didn’t understand much behind the murder of my parents. I was nine, so all I knew is that they were gone, killed by a supposed family friend, and they weren’t coming back for me. Lucian told me months ago that even my uncles couldn’t know of my existence yet, for fear of Cyrus finishing the job, which included the rest of the family. Finally, after some thought I whimpered, “I’d rather not.”

      Lucian took my small hand in his warm palm. He experienced loss, but never at this age, to this extent. This was just as hard for him to explain as it was for me to listen, but it had to be done at some point, for closure. He planned out his delivery in his head. He needed me to stay calm and keep listening so that I would understand why my parents died, and what was to come.

      “Then you don’t have to talk, my boy, just listen,” he began, taking a deep breath, as if he were jumping into an ice bath. “Cyrus, as you know, was not as he seemed. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, he kept your father close, gaining his trust for years. This was planned for a long time. He would gain your father’s trust, and would be publicized with him wherever he went. You see Gerald; nobody would expect the grieving best friend of a murdered man. He cleaned up your house very well, hid all traces of evidence that inspectors could find. As for your father…I don’t know what he did with him, but whatever he did, it was most foul.”

      My eyes started welling as he spoke; I shook my head in disbelief. I wanted him to stop talking about them. I wanted to know what happened to them, but the truth was too much to bear. Lucian, though, went on.

      “He murdered them, but made it look like a disappearance, Gerald. Not surprisingly, the investigators bought the trick, though for all we know, Cyrus paid them not to notice anything incriminating. Cyrus now has your father’s job at the bank, so he can afford to silence a few people. He’s laundering and stealing money from the people, and if Gilneas ever gets into a financial crisis, there will be rioting, poverty, and since nobody has any place to go outside of Gilneas, it will boil over into deaths. Cyrus has the city in his grasp, and people don’t even know they sit in the palm of a criminal.”

      I looked up at him with anger in my bloodshot eyes. I started to understand what Lucian was saying and why he was saying it. I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t form words. I closed my eyes in pain, the anger welling up within me. My vision blurred as he spoke, the fire in the hearth grew and whipped violently. Suddenly Lucian was beside me, embracing me and calming me down. The fire died, leaving the house dark, with pale grey light steaming through the clean windows. Lucian squat down to my height, put his hands on my shoulders, and looked into my drenched eyes. 

      “I knew there was something of power within you Gerald. You don’t know how to control it yet, do you?” He whispered, but didn’t let me respond. “No, no, of course not, no one has been there to mold you. You have a skill, Gerald, and such an important skill it is, not seen in these parts since the mages of Dalaran. You can harness the arcane, my boy, you can control magic!” 

      He grabbed the book I was reading before, and opened it, flipping the brown, weathered pages until he got to a section, written in fading ink titled ‘Learning the Arcane.’ He handed the book to me. “Forget about Cyrus for right now, you have something much more important to do. I want you to read the rest of this book in your spare time and get to know some of the techniques written here. This was given to me from a man from Dalaran, he said it was generations old. There are valued secrets in here that you can learn, if you apply yourself. You don’t have to be alone anymore, my boy, you can be someone, you can do something important for Gilneas.”

      I took the book and looked up. I didn’t understand why this lesson was so important. I recalled the time I lit the barn ablaze with my cousins, and wondered if that was the power Lucian was talking about. If so, I yearned to find out what it was and why I had the ability to manipulate flames. That night I stayed up reading, entranced in the decadent teachings within the old tome, the rich incantations that skittered across the page. I fell asleep with the book in my lap, and the next day I went right back to reading it. I realized I really wasn’t alone, and what I had wasn’t a rare occurrence. I could be something more than an orphan; I could be an orphan with fire both in his heart, and in the palm of his hand!

      It took me a mere few days to get through the book, and at this time, I was ready for some real practice. Lucian agreed with me and took me into the back yard, where he set up some crude targets for me to hit. As I concentrated, following the techniques I previously read, I thrust out my hand, focused on what I wanted, and almost caught Lucian’s robe on fire. He gave me the much needed tip to keep my eyes open when I’m handing fire, while he was stomping on the tail end of his robe. I fired up again and aimed at the target, hoping not to catch another house on fire, and when the ball of flame ejected from my hand, it went whistling into the target. Lucian was nearby with a bucket of water in order to put it out.

      Training carried on like that for a few months, and with each session, my flames grew brighter, and my power grew stronger. I learned to control my special abilities, and Lucian said I could hold my own in a simple fight, for at least a small period of time. Numerous new abilities were now in my disposal such as a small wave of flame, and a brief shower of meteors. I started reading every tome in Lucian’s house, and learning something that could enhance my power each day.

      A few months after I started learning my powers, Lucian knocked lightly on my bedroom door. He walked in and sat on my bedside, quiet for a few moments. “Gerald, I think it’s time that you see your family again. Be warned, though, they may be a bit hostile towards your secrecy, and they may not believe every word you say. Just...” He paused, sighing, “…be careful out there. We don’t know who the enemy is, or what Cyrus will do with you if he finds you.”

      From the first words out of his mouth I grew excited to see my family again. It would be a long journey to the part of Gilneas that they lived, but with my new abilities, I was confidant I would make it there without being seen. I would have to avoid every hamlet until I got to Caspian’s house, and then make my way back under the cover of darkness. I wanted this for so long, and I could do this, I knew I could.


End file.
